


Chekov's Gift

by MaxWrite



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/11451.html?thread=11383227#t11383227">This prompt</a>: <i>"VODKA IS OUR ENEMY SO VE'LL UTTERLY CONSUME IT!" – Russian Proverb</i><br/>Bonus for Chekov saying the proverb in the fic.<br/>And <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/7137.html?thread=5555425#t5555425">this prompt</a>: <i>The crew has a birthday party for Scotty. Afterwards, Chekov follows Scotty back to his room and gives him a sexy strip tease/lap dance.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chekov's Gift

"I'm not drunk," Scotty protested. Loudly.

"Like hell," McCoy grumbled as he hefted much of Scotty's weight in his strong arms, dragging him down the corridor toward Scotty's quarters. "How much did you drink?"

"Oh, you're one to talk. Didn't see you without a drink all night in your hand."

"Nice grammar there, smart guy. Not drunk, my ass."

McCoy deposited Scotty in front of his quarters and used his security override to unlock the door, seeing as Scotty was apparently in no shape to do it himself.

"Go lie down," McCoy ordered. "Drink some goddamn water and try to hit some kind of receptacle when you vomit."

Scotty leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. He breathed deeply for a moment, trying to get his bearings and make the corridor stop spinning. Okay, maybe he was a _little_ drunk. "Come closer," he whispered.

"Beg pardon?"

"I say, come closer."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Just come."

"Scotty, if you hit on me, I swear to god –"

"Just come here, will you?"

Scotty heard McCoy sigh, then a second later smelled his aftershave. Scotty smiled, turned his face toward McCoy's, guessed at where his ear might be and whispered, "Your bedside manner is bollocks." He snickered as McCoy pulled away.

"That's maturity for you," McCoy grumbled. "Come on, I'll help you inside."

"No," Scotty said, suddenly standing up straight and opening his eyes. He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't walk into his own bloody quarters. "I'm fine. Thanks for the help." He shuffled into the room.

"Hey, Scotty."

Scotty stopped in the doorway and turned back, squinted into the bright corridor at McCoy's concerned face. "What?"

"You sure you're alright? I can stay if you wanna talk."

"Pfft!" Scotty waved a hand at him. "I'm fine. Why would I need to talk?"

McCoy shrugged. "Birthday blues ain't nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh, don't go putting your psychologist pants on in front of me!"

"My what?"

"I'm only thirty-seven. It's just a number, don't mean shite, I know that."

McCoy arched an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

"You know, it's nothing to be ashamed of, getting depressed about getting older."

"I'm not 'older'."

"I didn't mean it like that –"

"I will have you know," Scotty said, pointing a finger at McCoy, "that I still get looks from the young'uns."

"Scotty –"

"Oh, you're so high and mighty with your pecs and your big hairy head –"

"Scotty –"

"– but there's nothing you've got that can compare to strong Scottish genes and a limber Scottish tongue, if you catch my meaning."

McCoy stared at him.

Scotty pointed to his own mouth. "It's used to acrobatics. Notice how I roll my R's." He winked. "It's all just practice, mark my words. And it's been greatly appreciated on more than one occasion, I can tell you that. You might want to be takin' notes."

McCoy sighed. "God. Scotty, you've got nothing to prove to me or anybody else. I'm sure you're still … uh … whatever."

Scotty smiled at him and tried to pat him on the shoulder but got his chest instead. "You worry too much. One of these days your face is liable to freeze like that." He frowned, examining McCoy more closely. "Or is it too late already?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Alright, that's enough. Look, you call me if you need anything. Or call somebody. I don't wanna wake up to reports of your untimely death by drowning in your own sick. Got it?"

Scotty wobbled a little as he saluted. "Aye, sir."

McCoy rolled his eyes again. Scotty technically outranked him and therefore had no reason to call him sir, but McCoy didn't mention it. He bid Scotty a good night and departed.

Scotty stumbled away from the door, which slid shut behind him, and headed for his bedroom where he collapsed on the bed in his clothes and passed out.

What seemed like seconds later, the door chime sounded, shaking Scotty from snoring, drooling sleep. With a groan, he pushed himself up off his bed and shuffled to the door. It opened for him and there stood Ensign Chekov.

Scotty blinked at him. "Erm … I'm not usually this shocked in my own dreams. I normally just go with whatever happens," he said, scratching his head.

Chekov blinked blearily at him. "You are not dreaming, Mr. Scott. I am really here." He smiled cockily. "But the fact that you think you are dreaming suggests that I was correct in my assumption: you are interested in me."

Scotty didn't know what the hell that meant, but then Chekov hiccuped and swayed a little, and it was so darned cute, Scotty forgot to wonder what was going on.

"May I come in, sir?" Chekov asked.

"Yeah, sure." Scotty stepped aside and gestured grandly at the interior of his quarters. "Come on in, dream-Chekov. 'Bout time you turned up, actually. I was starting to wonder. You're not normally this late."

With a smirk, Chekov stepped inside. "You will have to forgive me," he said. "I had quite a bit to drink at your birthday party and – oh!" He stumbled and fell right into Scotty's arms. Scotty caught him and easily kept him from falling.

"Sorry," Chekov breathed, his breath hot and laden with vodka.

"Don't mention it," Scotty assured him. "Rather bold tonight, aren't you? Usually you let me make the first move, but this is good too."

Chekov smirked again. "I thought I would drop by to give you a present. Another present. Different from the one I gave you earlier. One that I could not give you in front of the others."

Scotty grinned. "Oh, you don't say."

"Yes. Miss Gaila gave me, um, ideas when she popped out of the giant cake."

"Oh, I'm sure she gave a lot've people ideas with that."

"Come, sit." Chekov straightened up and guided Scotty back and down into an armchair. Scotty flopped into it and grinned a dopey grin up at Chekov. "You will have to forgive me if I am out of line," Chekov said, his voice low now as he stepped back and toed his boots off. His socks went next. "The way you were looking at me tonight, I thought perhaps I would take a chance." He toyed with the hem of his shirt, lifted it a bit to show pale belly skin underneath. "Am I? Out of line?"

"Hm?" Scotty raised his eyes from the bit of skin Chekov was showing and met his eyes. "No, 'course not. That's cute, though, that you're so worried even in a dream."

With a grin, Chekov began to peel his clothes off, starting with his shirt. He got a bit stuck in it for a while and struggled to pull his head out, but he finally managed it, and with a triumphant grin he tossed it aside. His narrow torso was creamy pale with just a hint of hair leading down into his trousers. Scotty bit his lip and shifted a little as his cock began to wake up. The detail in this dream was astonishing, Scotty noted. His dreams weren't normally this detailed. Not that he ever noticed while he was dreaming, so he wondered why he was noticing now. He shrugged and went about enjoying the show.

Chekov's slender fingers worked his pants open and pushed them down slowly, wiggling his hips a little. Scotty supposed that was supposed to be seductive, but then Chekov swayed and stumbled, quickly righting himself and smiling sheepishly.

"You're not normally drunk when we do this," Scotty pointed out. "How much did you say you had to drink tonight?"

"Lots," Chekov replied as he let his pants drop to the floor and stepped out of them. His little boxer briefs were full of nice, hard cock and Scotty focused his eyes there, his hand wandering to his own crotch to tug at himself.

"You know what they say," Chekov added. "'Vodka is our enemy, so we will utterly consume it!'" He punctuated this statement with a finger raised triumphantly into the air, which only caused him to overbalance and stumble again, this time so much that he fell right into Scotty's lap.

"Whoa," Scotty said, putting his hands out to catch him. "Who says that?"

"It is old Russian saying," Chekov informed him as he shifted in Scotty's lap, digging his knees into the spaces between Scotty's legs and the armrests, straddling him. "One I try to live by," Chekov added, his sleepy eyes focusing on Scotty's face as his hands went wandering about Scotty's chest.

"Apparently," Scotty murmured, taking hold of Chekov's slender waist, gripping there possessively and then moving his hands around and down to Chekov's tight little ass. Chekov arched and squirmed, and Scotty slipped his hands down inside the boy's underwear to squeeze his bare flesh.

"Are you eighteen in this dream?" Scotty asked.

"Um … yes?"

"Alright, then." At that, Scotty moved a hand around to Chekov's front, sliding it along the inside of his underwear and taking hold of Chekov's very hard cock. Chekov moaned and rolled his hips, pushing into Scotty's hand.

"Would it matter if I wasn't?" Chekov asked.

"Honestly?" Scotty grinned and shook his head. "Not one lick."

Chekov grinned and wrapped his arms around Scotty's neck. "Good." He then leaned in and whispered in Scotty's ear, "Because I won't be eighteen until September."

Scotty growled and gave Chekov's ass a firm squeeze.

"Would it matter if this was not actually a dream?" Chekov asked.

Scotty chuckled. "If this wasn't a dream, you wouldn't be here."

"You are certain of that?"

"Damn certain."

"And you are okay with that?"

"Been workin' just peachy for months now."

Chekov shrugged. "Whatever works." And at that, he took Scotty's mouth with his own, kissing him more boldly than he ever had before in one of Scotty's dreams. Scotty kind of liked this, this newer, bolder Chekov. In his dreams, Chekov always let Scotty hit on him and take charge, but this was good too. Pretty damned awesome, in fact. Chekov was eager and squirmy and warm and tight and cuddly and – _fuck_ – so young, and he smelled amazing, faintly of soap and sweat and vodka and just plain old sex. He never smelled this good in Scotty's dreams and the scent was driving him mad. He reached down in between them to tug his pants open.

Chekov looked down at that, watched Scotty pull his swollen cock out, and made a soft, guttural noise in the back of his throat. He reached down and let his hand join Scotty's in wrapping around his hard length. He then looked up and locked his eyes with Scotty as they stroked his cock together. Chekov had a sweet, earnest look on his face now, his eyes seeming to ask "Is that okay? Am I doing it right? Do you like that?" Scotty's dick twitched in the boy's hand. This was why Chekov was always so innocent and clueless in his dreams; because it was sexy as hell. Scotty felt like a perv, but damn, he couldn't help it.

"That's it," Scotty murmured, wrapping his fingers around Chekov's and guiding his strokes. "You want to squeeze a bit more up top, around the head. Just like that." With his free hand, he reached up and cupped the back of Chekov's head, pulling Chekov's face to his own for a soft, deep kiss that sent his tongue all the way into Chekov's mouth. Chekov moaned around his tongue and squirmed on his lap.

When the kiss broke, Chekov let go of him and stood up on his knees. He hooked his thumbs over the waistband of his underwear and slowly began to push it down. The head of his cock peeked out, red and full to bursting, the slit glistening wet. He continued to reveal himself until he flopped out, his dick pointing right at Scotty. He set his underwear at mid-thigh and then let his hands wander up his own body, fingers bumping over the angular bones of his hips, feeling his own hot skin, showing off, displaying himself for his about-to-be lover. He was watching Scotty's reactions, seeing if Scotty liked his body, probably getting off on being desired by someone older. Huh, Scotty thought. This dream-Chekov was an interesting little bugger.

Scotty's vision swam as he looked up at Chekov's sweet, questioning face. His hands were confident and possessive on Chekov's body, gripping his thighs and then moving up to appreciate his ass and then his exquisitely flat and toned belly. Scotty smiled lazily at him.

"Aye, I very much like what I'm seeing," he murmured, as though Chekov had asked a question. "You're a gorgeous young thing, you must know that."

Chekov grinned, sweet and sheepish, as he settled back down on Scotty's lap. Their cocks bumped against each other. Chekov deliberately nudged at Scotty's again with his own, making them nuzzle.

"Would you – _*hic*_ ," Chekov started to say, his little hiccup making his body jump a little. He covered his mouth in the most adorable way and Scotty had to laugh and cuddle the boy to him, gliding his nose along the sharp jut of collar bone, inhaling the scent coming off that smooth, freckled skin.

"What was that, now?" Scotty asked.

"I was going to say, sir, would you like to go into your bedroom?"

Fuck, yeah! Scotty didn't say a word as he nudged Chekov off his lap. It took Chekov two tries to rise to his feet, but he finally managed it, and then it was Scotty's turn to awkwardly push himself up. Chekov helped, tugging on his arm, then nearly fell over, landing in Scotty's arms in a fit of giggles.

The rest of the night seemed to happen in bursts of images, sounds and colors. Scotty vividly remembered Chekov on his elbows and knees on the bed, knees spread wide apart, arse in the air, proud and pert, his strong back sloping downward like a ski slope of freckles and muscle, his small cheeks not even close to enough to hide the little pink pucker nestled between them, certainly not in this position. And his balls and his cock, larger than Scotty had dreamed them before, flushed deep pink, hanging heavily beneath Chekov's body, begging for attention. He remembered Chekov's long fingers groping underneath himself, cupping his own balls. Scotty remembered lying underneath the lad and watching this, watching that big hand, looking so awkward and yet so right at the end of Chekov's long, skinny arm, as it fondled and played down there. He remembered burying his face in Chekov's backside, lapping hungrily at his little hole, sucking, kissing, mercilessly eating the boy, making him gasp and moan.

Scotty remembered getting sucked by a very eager mouth. He remembered loving the enthusiasm and even joy with which Chekov approached this particular task, smiling like a happy kid as he licked obscenely up Scotty's length. He remembered feeling an eager tongue trying to burrow into his ass, curious fingers probing inside him. He remembered Chekov's young body losing control and spurting unexpectedly all over Scotty's face and neck, he remembered the long limbs falling to the mattress afterward, limp and drained.

And Scotty remembered taking Chekov, working his hole open as the boy lay there exhausted, remembered Chekov's soft, blue gaze focused trustingly on him as he pushed Chekov's leg up and back to open him up and then buried fingers inside him, as he slicked his own cock with lube and then buried it inside Chekov too. He remembered Chekov's plaintive cries and scrunched-up face as he was filled with cock, he remembered Chekov's cries turning to ones of pleasure as Scotty fucked him faster, harder, hitting his prostate, he remembered Chekov's fingertips gliding through the sweat on Scotty's back, his nails clawing the slippery wet skin, the fingers hanging onto his arse for dear life as he fucked another orgasm out of the boy and then spilled into him with a groan of pleasure and relief.

Oh, sure, Scotty remembered all that, but he didn't remember the transitions, how Chekov got on all fours and then from there to sucking cock and then from there to coming all over Scotty's face. The night was disjointed, like the filthiest jigsaw puzzle Scotty had ever tried to assemble. But Scotty supposed he was remembering the most important parts. The transitions didn't matter as long as he could keep these gorgeous images fixed in his mind forever.

 

* * *

The alarm clock blared. Scotty yelled at it and it shut up. The morning after. He groaned into the darkness and rubbed at his forehead.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Feels like somebody wrung me dry like a sponge. Well, alcohol will do that to you, I suppose."

"So will hours of fucking," said a soft, gravelly voice to Scotty's right. Scotty's eyes popped open and met nothing but pitch blackness that pressed disconcertingly down on his eyeballs.

"Lights!" he called and the room was flooded with offending brightness. He squinted over to his right and found Chekov squinting back at him, his curls all matted down on one side.

"Good morning, Mr. Scott," Chekov said, scrunching up his face and rubbing at his eyes.

Scotty blinked at him, his mind racing. Was he still dreaming? Nah, couldn't be. He never felt nearly this achy and horrible in his dreams.

Achy? Why was he achy?

Images began flooding his mind, dirty images of him and Chekov, sweaty limbs tangled together, mouths and fingers doing all kinds of wonderfully disgusting things.

Chekov grinned at him. "You don't remember, do you?"

"I … yeah, I … er … We had sex for real?"

With a chuckle, Chekov looked away, toward the ceiling. "You thought the whole thing was a dream, didn't you?"

"What? Nah!"

Yes.

"No, I'm just a wee bit fuzzy, is all. You know, 'cause of all the scotch. And cake. Damn near slipped into a sugar coma last night." Scotty rolled onto his side, wincing at the various aches in his thirty-seven-year-old body and wondered what the hell he'd done last night to put those aches there. He desperately tried to remember everything. "So, you're still here. That must mean you enjoyed yourself."

Chekov looked at him sleepily and smiled. "Mm-hm," he hummed, rolling toward Scotty too, shimmying close and cuddling up. Scotty stayed still as he did this, waiting for Chekov to settle down before he allowed himself to put his hands on the boy. It was as though he didn't want to disturb the natural process of … whatever the hell this was, like if he moved too much, it might snap Chekov out of his stupor and remind him that he wasn't supposed to be in his superior's bed, cuddling up to him and rubbing his morning stiffy against him. When Chekov had stopped moving, Scotty finally, carefully, laid a hand on his back, caressing his smooth skin. Yup, he was real. Warm and soft and real.

"I did a good job for you, then," Scotty murmured.

"Da," Chekov sighed. "What about me?"

Scotty exhaled heavily. "From what I remember, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the rest of your life."

Chekov smiled against his chest. "You have thanked me more than enough, Mr. Scott."

"So … wanna call in sick today? You and me?"

Chekov looked up at him. "Both of us? Don't you think that will look suspicious?"

Scotty grinned. "Oh, laddie, I'm counting on it."

END


End file.
